Nine Ten Begin Again: A Grasshopper Lawns affair Read Free Page B

weather.’ She looked at the rain lashing against the darkened windows of the train as it rushed through the gloomy afternoon and grimaced. ‘They have a point. She suggested I go down for a couple of weeks into December. The whole team is there and we could fit some work around their schedule, even use the actors on location for some read-throughs to see how the dialogue works. It sounded tempting. So, what were you in town for?’
    ‘Investment meeting, I’d forgotten it was today. A show I backed for its first year. We made a good return on it so they’re hoping the initial investors will invest in the film version.’
    ‘Will you?’
    ‘I’ll sleep on it and tell you at breakfast. We’re nearly there. Have you got your car with you, or do you want a lift back to the Lawns?’
    ‘I’ve got my car, thanks.’ She slid along the seat as the train slowed. ‘Do you have your show script? I’d love to have a read.’
    ‘Even better, I’ve got their own recording of the show, I wanted to watch it again. Come watch it with me, I’d be interested in your opinion. I could pick up takeaways on the way, if you want to eat first. Or, if you prefer, I’m no cook but I do a reasonable omelette.’
    ‘That sounds cordon bleu standard to me. My omelettes inevitably turn into scrambled egg, but I do like them.’
    ‘I’ve heard about your cooking,’ he said drily and she sighed.
    ‘I’m fine when I stick to a recipe but I’m always tempted to experiment. Sometimes it works. More often it doesn’t. Vivian dines out on my culinary disasters. She says it’s the only dining that’s safe.’
    He smiled and led the way off the train, putting up his umbrella to cover them both as she stepped out to join him. She clicked the button on her own to expand it as the rain drummed relentlessly on the fabric, and shivered. ‘The joys of November.’
    ‘Oh aye. Give me time to change and walk the dog, come by around six.’
     
    ~~~
     
    The road was slick with rain and well scattered with branches and twigs, roadside trees thrashing in the gale-force wind were caught in her headlights and as quickly lost into the dark, and she was relieved to reach the Lawns and run her small car into its covered parking, Donald’s BMW swishing by seconds later on his way to his garage. The hungry wind promptly turned her umbrella inside out and the dash across the little service road to the extended walkway outside the laundry soaked her instantly. She dabbed water from her face as she walked swiftly to her apartment, suddenly chilled.
    She flicked on lights, scooped up her cat to rub his head against her cheek, and flipped on the kettle, then lit the fire and turned the flames to their highest before drawing the curtains with relief, shutting out the wild afternoon. The automatic central heating should have been on since the start of November but the apartment was chilly and she went back to the fire, rubbing her hands together to warm them. For a moment she was almost sorry she’d agreed to go out that night, but being able to talk about her work to someone who grasped all the implications so quickly had been fun, and watching a stage show, and trying to assess its film potential, would be fascinating. Not to mention Donald lived two doors away so she’d neither have to dress up or take the car back out. She changed into a fleece-lined tracksuit, smiling to herself—he would hate it—and took the pins out of her hair to let it fall in heavy kinked waves to her shoulders before taking her coffee over to the fireplace to curl up in her favourite chair.
    Her telephone message light was flashing and she realized guiltily she’d not taken her mobile phone off silent after the meeting. Three messages—first Patrick’s charming Irish voice saying he was sorry to miss her as he was going out, but inviting himself to lunch tomorrow at the Lawns which he hoped was okay. She smiled at the phone. Patrick was her accountant but also an old and